


Medication Does Not Equal Addiction (Honestly)

by pots_the_giraffe



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Medication, References to Addiction, References to Drug Dealing, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pots_the_giraffe/pseuds/pots_the_giraffe
Summary: Pete's been taking medication for as long as he could remember (that's an exaggeration, but it might as well be true). He knew the smell of the pills lingered, knew the taste did too. So he could understand when others didn't want to be as close to him. Honestly, if he had a choice, he'd choose to do the same.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Medication Does Not Equal Addiction (Honestly)

**Author's Note:**

> That title sucks but I couldn't come up with anything better. Anyway, I hope you enjoy<3

His breath smelt like pills, the chalky taste lingering in his mouth. Even after rinsing his mouth out with water the taste still remained. The glass of orange juice that followed didn’t cover it up either, and brushing his teeth only made it worse. The taste was one he had grown used to, he’d had to deal with it everyday since he was 14, but Patrick hadn’t. Everytime he got close enough to breathe near Patrick, he would flinch at the smell of his own breath. He felt guilty, as if he were a dying druggie rather than someone who relied on pills to solve all of his mental problems. Though in his opinion, the two weren’t so different; the prescription just had his name on it but there were times when his name belonged to someone else. 

He would watch as Patrick would subtly lean away, maybe just a centimeter, but it hurt. He tried, he really did, to get rid of the taste, the smell, that was a constant reminder of his problems. Patrick would never bring it up, would act as though it wasn’t there, but he knew. Could tell when Patrick breathed through his mouth rather than his nose when he stood a little too close. Patrick would tell him that he was paranoid, that no one noticed, no one cared. But he saw when others would turn away from him, could feel them hold their own breaths when he got too far into their space. 

He knew him and Patrick could never be anything more, even if he wasn’t who he was, he knew that no one would want to breathe in the smell of his medication. The smell that haunted him, it lingered on his clothes from accidentally crushing a pill, it stuck to his fingers even if he tried to avoid holding it for any longer than necessary, he could smell it following him wherever he went even if others pretended it wasn’t there.

When others would lean in he could always predict what would happen next. It was almost funny how many times it had happened; someone would lean in to kiss him, their breaths hitching, but then they would be a centimeter away and they would stop, some would only pause before continuing but he could see the disgust on their faces. Could feel the want to continue leaving their body but they would push forward anyway. It only got worse once they got only a hint of the taste he had to live with for his entire life. It would usually end there, with soft spoken lies of other places, other people. 

So when Patrick had leaned in, already aware of the disease that lingered on him, he hadn’t known what to do. No one, besides his mother, got this close to him by choice once they knew. But Patrick didn’t stop even when he knew he could smell every pill he just took. He didn’t even hesitate like most did. His own breathing hitched and he held his breath for reasons beyond the usual. He felt the gentle press of lips against his own but even then he didn’t breathe for fear of ruining it. They stayed like that for a few seconds before Patrick leaned a few centimeters back. He knew he ruined it, the illness always did, but he was surprised they got that far. He was still breathing through his nose, little huffs of air.

Patrick sighed, “It’s okay, Pete. I don’t care.” He didn’t believe him. Everyone cared even if they pretended not to. He didn’t know why Patrick was trying to convince him otherwise. He knew one thing though, being this close to Patrick was comforting, the warmth he didn’t usually get to experience made his breathing come easier. “Let me, please.” Patrick’s voice was sure and steady so he let him lean in again.

This time when the lips pressed to his, he pressed back, not any more sure of himself but his trust in Patrick was more than enough. When Patrick parted his lips he didn’t pull back, or stop breathing like he usually tried to do. 

He knew he should’ve known that Patrick was different, that he didn’t care for the ghost that always followed him everywhere, but it was hard to trust anyone when you hardly trusted yourself.

From then on, the taste that lingered, the smell that he couldn’t avoid, that was everywhere he didn’t want it to be was Patrick. It overwhelmed the pills, stronger and more dedicated to sticking to his skin than the medication could ever hope to be.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was wondering, most of the smell that Pete believed was on him wasn't actually there and seemed worse to him than it actually was.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://axebodyspray.tumblr.com/)


End file.
